To Those Who Wait
by r4ven3
Summary: Set 16 months after Cotterdam, Ruth is who-knows-where, Harry has the headache of another major bombing to clean up after, and Malcolm is busily weaving his magic with his own software, when he discovers something - two things, actually. Rated M for all the usual reasons. This is a post-Cotterdam story in 7 chapters, with a little more of Malcolm than usual.
1. Chapter 1

"_All things come to those who wait."_

_English Proverb_

* * *

**Malcolm:**

Malcolm Wynn-Jones was about to get himself a cup of tea from the kitchen when he heard the special tone from his mobile phone. He knew what it meant when he heard the brief `ding'. The message tone on his phone was the Daleks from _Doctor Who_ saying, threateningly: "_exterminate ….. exterminate"_, and this always brought a chuckle from anyone who heard it, but the `ding' wasn't a message tone as such; it was something else altogether. The `ding' was loud enough for him to hear, but unobtrusive enough so that others who heard it would accommodate it by allowing it to mingle with all the other hundreds of electronic sounds which emanated from the machines of the Grid at any time of the day or night. Malcolm looked around him, but Adam wasn't at his desk, and Jo was fully occupied reading something on her monitor, and Connie and Harry were deep in conversation in Harry's office. He heard Harry raise his voice, but then he quieted, as he listened to Connie's reply.

Malcolm had never much liked Connie James. In his mind, she was a female snake – slimy and elusive, prone to hiding under rocks and then striking without warning. She had a way of saying things which were heavily barbed, but which sounded rather benign to those who didn't know her. She tended to hide behind her lame attempts at humour, safe there, ready to strike. Malcolm didn't trust Connie. All the same, he hoped he was wrong about her. In Malcolm's view, Harry deserved to be surrounded by people whom he could trust, and that hadn't always been the case. Tom Quinn was a case in point; Tom, who had gone rogue, and then shot Harry in the shoulder.

Malcolm observed Harry at a distance, it was easier that way. He and Harry had known one another for almost 18 years, which is a long time to have worked with someone. If Malcolm had any friends, they were people he knew from work. He'd considered Ruth a friend, Colin had been his best friend, and since Ruth had gone into exile, he and Harry had found some common ground, although both men were very private, and so not prone to sharing anything personal. In all likelihood, Malcolm was going to have to get close and personal with Harry. It all depended on what he found when he got home. It all depended on what the program he had running on his personal computer – in his locked office at home – had found, because it had found something. The `ding' was a message from his computer to his phone which essentially said: _You'd better take a look at this._ Trouble is, it was only 11.07 am, and so it would be a good number of hours until he was able to leave work and go home. He could wait. He was a patient man.

* * *

**Harry:**

While Malcolm was contemplating the possibilities of what he'd find when he got home and unlocked his office, Harry was sitting in his office with the blinds closed. He'd seen the photos of what was left of Zaf. There was no way of identifying him from the photos, so he'd ordered a DNA test, just to be sure. He had no doubt that the beaten and burned mess of flesh had once been Zafar Younis, MI5 officer, fine young man, friend, colleague, son and brother. Did it ever stop? It was in these moments that he hated his job, hated the responsibilities he had for maintaining morale against the tide of hatred and abuse, hated sending healthy and happy young men and women to their deaths, hated losing people he valued, people he even loved. He had loved them all – for their bravery, their kindness, their loyalty, the latter of which he was certain he didn't really deserve.

Then there was Ruth.

She had always been more, special to him, and now she was at some secret place far away. He held close to him his memories of her. What they had shared was not to be spoken of to another. What they had was not to be flaunted or displayed. What they were to each other was for them alone to know and to cherish. Until her name was cleared, he had to play it carefully, and as was his habit, he had to pull down the shutters on his emotions and simply get on with it.

In the meantime, his team needed to know about Zaf.

* * *

**Malcolm:**

By the time Malcolm put the key into the front door of his house it was past eight-thirty, and he was weary. Despite his curiosity, the last thing he felt like doing was opening the door to his office and finding what it was his face and body recognition software had found. He knocked on his mother's bedroom door, and then opened it and put his head inside.

"Mother?" he asked, but she was already asleep.

He ate the meal she'd left for him in the warmer of the cooker, and opened a fresh bottle of grenache, and poured himself a glass. After he'd sifted through the mail which his mother had left in a neat pile on the end of the dining table, he took the bottle and his glass of grenache into his office.

He tapped a key on the keyboard to awaken his computer's monitor, and there it was, the image of the person he'd been seeking, along with the date, time and place the image had been captured. He sat back in his chair and smiled at what he saw. It wasn't a really defined image, but it was defined enough. He enlarged the image, and zoomed in, and then he zoomed out. It was what the zoomed out image showed which had him putting down his glass, and then searching for his reading glasses. He didn't wish to jump to conclusions, nor did he wish to be mistaken in any way. Glasses on his nose, he looked closely at the screen.

"Bloody Nora," he said aloud. "What do I do with _this_ little piece of information?"

He sat back in his chair, removed his glasses and pinched his nose with his thumb and forefinger, just as he'd seen Harry do many times. _How do I tell Harry about this_? _Do I tell Harry ,or should I keep this to myself?_

Malcolm stood up from his chair and, despite the lateness of the hour, and the recent rain, he unlocked the back door to the house, walked across the paved patio, and stepped on to the lawn. He loved his back yard. Along with his house, it was his sanctuary, surrounded on three sides by a high wall. He lifted his eyes to the sky, but all was dark, with only a slight glow where the moon was hidden behind cloud cover. He shivered, suddenly recognising how cold he was, and how still was the night air.

Malcolm walked around the perimeter of his lawn three times before something else crept into his conscious mind. Harry had taken leave around five months ago, and he himself had prepared his legend and his passport, in the name of Dr James Grey. Malcolm had not been privy to where Harry had spent the four weeks of his leave, but it _was_ possible, wasn't it?

He quickly went back inside, locking and bolting the back door behind him. Inside his office, he once again sat in front of his computer. Although it would be the easiest thing in the world for him to do, he baulked at doing a search for where Harry may have gone for his leave …... although he now has a pretty good idea. He opened up the `Search' facility in his _Chwilio y byd_ program (written and developed by him, and deliberately named in Welsh in honour of his late father's native tongue), and typed in the parameters for a new search.

_Location_? Zurich, Switzerland.

_Search radius?_ 50 km.

_To identify_? He uploaded a recent full-body photograph of Harry.

_Date(s)/Time_? Malcolm keyed in the time frame of Harry's leave five months earlier. Then he set the program – as usual – to let him know when it had found a match by sending a coded message to his mobile phone.

Now all he had to do was wait.

* * *

_**A/N: The name of Malcolm's program translates as: Searching the globe. I had to use Google Translate, so to any Welsh speakers/readers, I hope it's accurate.**_


	2. Chapter 2

**_A/N: The plotty stuff develops in this chapter ... bear with me._**

* * *

_Malcolm keyed in the time frame of Harry's leave five months earlier. Then he set the program – as usual – to let him know when it had found a match by sending a coded message to his mobile phone._

_Now all he had to do was wait._

* * *

**Harry:**

_The Grid – 11.12 am:_

Harry had no sooner sat himself at his desk than he felt someone at the door. It was the gentle knock and the polite cough which gave away the identity of his visitor.

"Harry," Malcolm said politely, waiting to be invited into Harry's inner sanctum. "There's something I need to run by you."

"Come in, Malcolm," Harry said, indicating the chair across the desk from his own.

"Cutting a long story short, I've found a connection – rather loose at this stage – between the 2005 London bombings, and last month's bombings in Manchester. As you know, the brains behind the London bombings is still something about which we're not entirely certain."

Malcolm took a breath, and shuffled the notes in front of him. Harry knew better than to interrupt or – his preferred response – to express irritability.

"The London bombers themselves," continued Malcolm, "deliberately expressed that they were acting on behalf of Islam, and in particular British Muslims, and `our mothers, children, brothers and sisters in Palestine, Afghanistan, Iraq and Chechnya', to quote Shehzad Tanweer. Thus, we were led to believe they were cleanskins with an agenda all of their own, acting on behalf of other oppressed peoples."

"And your point, Malcolm?"

"We have uncovered a similar agenda from the statements left behind by the Manchester bombers. It was the statement by Shezad Tanweer that caught my attention, since similar sentiments were expressed by Afzaal Bhalli, who was -"

"Purported to be the brains behind the Manchester bombings."

"Yes," Malcolm breathed, "but it seems he was merely a worker bee. The queen bee – or king bee – is someone who has until now been hidden from view."

"And you're here to tell me who this king bee is, Malcolm."

"I'm not certain yet, but I have uncovered email evidence of contact between each of Tanweer and Bhalli with Abdul Golovkin. Golovkin had a Pakistani mother and a Russian father."

"Don't tell me this is Viktor Golovkin's son."

"The very same. We don't know if Viktor is still in the land of the living. If he is, he's been very quiet during the past ten years or so, but his son, Abdul is an extremist. He is a Muslim with a Russian agenda for total world power."

"And the quickest way to world domination is to destabilise stable economies through terrorism."

"Right," said Malcom.

"The question remains," Harry added, steepling his fingers under his chin, "is how it is we didn't receive ample warning for each of these bombings – both 2005 and last month – when they must have been planned months in advance."

"I think that Abdul Golovkin is the key, Harry. I'm here to ask your permission to hack into some quite sensitive bank data and email accounts. I'm getting close to Golovkin electronically, but I just may tread on some important toes in the process."

"Malcolm, I can't profess to have any idea of what it is you actually do, but I trust you and your methods, and as far as I'm concerned you can step on all the toes you like, so long as you catch this Golovkin in the act."

"Even if it means that some red faces may result?"

"Even then, Malcolm. Was there anything else?"

Harry noticed Malcolm squirm slightly in his chair. Malcolm was one person who, apart from a propensity for blushing, never gave away his feelings. Were he ever to develop an interest in gambling, he would make the perfect poker player.

"Er, yes, but this next thing is ….. er …... delicate, and I'd rather not talk about it here. Can we meet after work, Harry?"

"Alright," Harry said, almost certain that he knows what this will be about. "How about seven o'clock at _The Fox and Chicken_? It's along the -"

"I know where it is, and I'll be there."

_The Fox and Chicken pub – 7.17 pm:_

Harry knew that Malcolm knew he'd be late. It was practically a given. He wished it were otherwise, but Harry had no control at all over politicians and the fact that they expected him to be on call all the hours that he was given.

"Sorry I'm late, Malcolm," Harry said, taking a seat opposite his technical analyst.

"It's alright, Harry. I enjoy people-watching. I am endlessly fascinated by the behaviour of our species. I find most people completely bewildering." Malcolm smiled across at Harry, and seemed to include his boss in the group of people he found to be bewildering. "I bought you a Glenfiddich. I hope that's okay."

"That's perfect. Thank you, Malcolm. Now, what's all the mystery?" Harry had a fair idea, but he wasn't about to pre-empt Malcolm by saying something like, `I know what you've found.' He sipped his drink as he watched Malcolm wriggle in his seat as he drew an envelope from his coat pocket.

Malcolm opened the manilla envelope, and from it drew several sheets of A4 paper. "Before I show you these," he said, "I have to tell you that I began my search intending to give you a gift. Now, I'm not so sure how much of a gift this is, but I'll leave that up to you. For the past eight months I've been electronically searching Europe for Ruth."

Harry tried to keep the concern out of his face. The last thing he needed was people digging around electronically in search of her. She was vulnerable enough as as it was without techno-wizards like Malcolm performing their particular brand of digital archaeology.

"I set up my search to trawl the cities of Europe, beginning with the most likely ones according to Ruth's interests and tastes …... cities like Paris, Rome ..."

"Athens, Florence, Venice," Harry added, almost without thinking.

"I found her, Harry," Malcolm said, placing the first of his printouts in front of Harry. In that photograph, her image had been caught by a CCTV camera as she left a smart, modern office. "It seems she's working as an interpreter for the newly formed European Council On Foreign Relations in Zurich. She's a clever woman, your Ruth."

Harry almost missed Malcolm's words about Ruth, but a small part of his brain acknowledged the words, `your Ruth'. _She's certainly that_. He was staring at her image on the paper. They had agreed that they would not possess images of each other, either electronically, or hard copies. The dangers in so doing were many, and so they were having to rely on their memories. Harry found himself tracing the shape of Ruth's face with his finger. He suddenly drew his finger away, and looked across at Malcolm, who had been carefully observing his boss.

"What else do you have?" Harry said, trying hard to sound businesslike.

"Well, there's this," Malcolm replied, sliding another image across the table to come to rest in front of Harry.

When he leaned in and saw his own image, walking down a narrow street, holding hands with Ruth, he knew he was sprung, and any attempts to fake ignorance were now pointless. The image had been captured from satellite, so their faces were difficult to identify, but it was clear who they were. On the date and time listed at the bottom of the photograph, Harry Pearce and Ruth Evershed were walking down the main street of the small village in which Ruth lived, just a twenty minute bus ride from her work in Zurich. He remembers the day. It was a Thursday – Ruth's day off – and they had taken part in the village festival – held every fortnight – in which the local farmers brought their cows into town. He and Ruth had been woken early by the sounds from outside their bedroom window, sounds of cowbells, and cow handlers calling out to each other. It had barely been dawn. They'd tumbled into one another's arms in their bed in Ruth's third floor apartment above the main street, and made slow and sensual love. They had the whole day to themselves, so what better way to wake up? After breakfast they'd wandered along the street to where the cows were gathered in the Town Hall – a village tradition to honour the cows – and they'd bought jams and pickles and all kinds of breads and cheeses from the stalls set up outside the town hall. Cows inside, and people outside. Harry remembers Ruth commenting that she thought that to be a much more civilised arrangement between animals and humans. They had wandered back to her apartment around lunchtime, each carrying a carry bag of produce, while they held hands as they walked. Harry can remember feeling that in that moment he hadn't a care in the world. He'd temporarily forgotten the secret world of satellites and surveillance.

He looked up at Malcolm, who had been watching him the whole time.

"How did you know where she was?" Malcolm asked.

"She sent me a postcard. I received it around two weeks before I took my leave. It was coded, of course, but it was clear to me what she meant. She lives outside Zurich, which was where that image of us both was captured."

"Yes, I gathered that," Malcolm replied. "I had to follow her movements using satellite images. Harry, I began this search for you, so that you would know where she was, just in case you wanted to see her, but I see you got there ahead of me."

"So it seems." Harry thought of acting angrily to Malcolm's scrutiny of Ruth's whereabouts, but decided against it. He knew that Malcolm's motivation was an honourable one, and came from a place of respect for both he and Ruth.

Harry noticed a discomfort in Malcolm's body language. To be honest, Malcolm often appeared discomforted, but not normally in a situation such as this, with the two of them sitting in a pub over a drink.

Malcolm coughed into his hand before he continued. "There are two other images of Ruth, taken only two days ago," Malcolm continued. "I've been worried about showing these to you, but having come this far, I have to keep going, I'm afraid."

In the few seconds it took for Malcolm to find the relevant photograph, and then push it across the table to him, Harry's stomach dropped, and his felt a ringing in his ears. He was afraid of what Malcolm was about to reveal. Ruth with another man? Possible, but highly unlikely. Ruth engaging in an act of espionage? Again, very unlikely.

As he dropped his eyes to the photograph – another one of Ruth in Zurich, just as she'd left her work for the day – he wasn't sure what Malcolm wanted him to see. He looked hard, but to his eyes, it was his Ruth – visible from the knees up - stepping through a doorway onto the street.

"This image of her in profile is more defined," Malcolm said quietly, slowly pushing another printout in front of Harry.

Harry looked at it, and then he saw it, what Malcolm was trying to show him. "Fucking arsing hell," Harry said. "What have I done?"

* * *

_**A/N: 1) Although the London bombings did occur in 2005, and the name I mentioned as one of the bombers was so, the Manchester bombings, and all personnel associated are fictional. Abdul Golovkin is fictional.**_

_**2) The European Council On Foreign Relations does exist, but its offices are in London. For the purpose of this story, there is also an office in Zurich. The Council was set up in October 2007, so I am assuming that Ruth had been working there from the council's inception.**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: Thanks to readers and reviewers, and to those of you (which is probably all of you) who sussed out what it is Malcolm found. You're all too clever to be wasting your time on the net, reading fanfiction! In this chapter, there is more H & R than there has been until now.**_

* * *

"_This image of her in profile is more defined," Malcolm said quietly, slowly pushing another printout in front of Harry._

_Harry looked at it, and then he saw it, what Malcolm was trying to get him to see. "Fucking arsing hell," Harry said. "What have I done?"_

* * *

**Harry:**

"I take it you didn't know," Malcolm said quietly.

Harry sighed heavily and thought: _How could she keep this from me?_

"And I imagine you're wondering why is it she hasn't told you. I am also imagining that you have regular contact with her."

"Yes to both," Harry replied quietly. "I'm trying to think why she would keep this quiet. After all, she won't be able to keep it quiet forever." He looked again at the photo of Ruth in profile. She was definitely pregnant. The dress she wore didn't hide it at all. To Harry's eyes, she appeared to be around five months pregnant, and he had arrived in Switzerland five months ago. Going by that calculation, she would have conceived early in his visit, and would also have known she was pregnant by the time he left four weeks later. "Can I have these, Malcolm?" Harry asked, indicating the images of Ruth. "I don't want anyone getting hold of them, so I'll have to keep them in my safe at home. You'll be similarly discreet, I hope."

"Of course. I hope I haven't stepped on any toes. I thought you would rather know."

"I'm glad you told me, Malcolm. It's a bit of a shock, that's all. I thought we'd been …... careful …. but perhaps …." He let the idea go as he remembered something from their first night together.

Harry stood up and went to the bar to buy them each another drink. He and Malcolm still had to discuss the Manchester bombing. It seemed likely there was an information leak somewhere from within the security services.

* * *

Back home, Harry tucked into a can of tomato soup and a couple of slices of buttered toast, and contemplated the past and its impact on the present. On that first night in Switzerland with Ruth, she had reminded him that her apartment only had one bedroom, and one bed.

"_I can sleep on the sofa," he'd suggested._

"_You came all the way to Switzerland to sleep on my sofa?"_

_Put like that, his suggestion sounded ridiculous, and he'd smiled at her and shaken his head. "Of course I didn't. I came here to see you."_

"_And I hope that you intended to do more than just see me."_

_Harry had flushed at the implication in Ruth's words. How could she possibly have known how much he'd ached for her – since before they'd gone out to dinner – and now, in her presence in her small apartment, he was having great difficulty in keeping his hands to himself. Despite that, he'd not wanted her thinking he wanted her for one thing only, because he didn't. He'd wanted all of her, and that included her body._

_They had gone to bed in Ruth's double bed in her small room in the attic of the house, her apartment being on the top floor. They had drifted asleep while lying chastely apart, she on one side of the bed, and he on the other. Harry had awoken some time during the night, the light from the almost full moon streaming through the attic window. He lay there, looking at the small window, trying to not think about the warm body next to him, her chest lifting slowly against his back as she breathed out. Gradually he became aware of other places where their bodies were touching – her hair on the back of his neck, her forehead against his shoulder, her knees against his buttocks, and her hand resting on his hip, her fingers dangling deliciously close to that sensitive spot inside his hip bone. He thought in that moment that were her fingers to touch his skin just beneath his hipbone, he would surely have passed out._

_No sooner had he had that thought than he felt her breathing pattern change, and her fingers slid under the waistband of his pants until she reached the sensitive area just under his hip bone. He drew a breath, and leaned back against her as her fingers traced circles between his hip bone and his pubic hair. It was when one of her fingers `accidentally' touched and then stroked his growing erection that he'd breathed out quickly in an attempt to remain in control of his body._

_Barely able to contain his excitement, his want of her, he'd slowly turned to face her, and saw her blue eyes wide, the desire in her eyes mirroring his own. Ruth had then slipped her fingers under his t-shirt, and with a feather-light touch, she'd caressed his skin all over his chest, around his nipples, and then down to his stomach, following the track of blond hairs from his navel all the way to his genitals. Her hand on him had rid him of all doubt about what she'd wanted. They'd pulled off their clothes, capturing deep, sensual kisses as they went._

_When he'd entered her, it felt like the most natural thing in the world for them to be doing. They had waited years for this, and it had been everything they had hoped it would be. It had been much more than sex. It had been everything ….. everything they were, and had held back from the other. It had been the past meeting the present with hope for their future. It had been all the words they'd never said, all the looks of longing and lust folded into their bodies as they joined, he snuggly inside her, sharing her warmth._

_Afterwards, they lay in one another's arms, and Harry couldn't keep the smile from his face, that is, until he remembered something …... something they'd forgotten in the heat of their passion._

"_Ruth, we didn't use any protection. Tell me you're on the pill …... or something."_

_Ruth had taken a while to answer. "No, I'm not. I have condoms – just in case – but -"_

"_We were in too much of a hurry. Sorry," he'd apologised, feeling like a teenager after having made impatient love to his girlfriend for the first time on the back seat of his car._

"_I seem to remember I was the one who made the first move, although you were …. quite …... ready, Harry."_

"_We both were. Tell me you're not in a fertile time."_

"_I'm not sure," she said slowly. "My cycle can be erratic ….. so …... maybe we'll be lucky. Do you think I should get the morning after pill?"_

_He remembered feeling sad that she'd even suggested that, but he knew it would have been the most sensible thing to have done._

"_Only if you think it's best," he'd replied._

He'd never checked that she had. In the excitement of their continuing time together, it had been forgotten.

From that night on, and for the following four weeks he'd lived with her in Switzerland, they had used protection – and yet it seemed that as a result of their first night together, they had conceived.

Harry had two options. He could get on the next plane to Zurich, turn up at her door, and ask her why she'd not told him about her pregnancy. His second option – infinitely more sedate – would be to write to her using their safe email accounts, and see what she had to say about it. It was getting on for 11 pm, and he needed to sleep, but more than sleep, he needed to write to Ruth.

Harry climbed the stairs to his office, a glass of wine in his hand, and sat at his laptop and opened the safe email account – an account Malcolm had set up for him several years ago – and he thought about what it was he wanted to say to Ruth.

He wanted to say: _What the hell are you thinking, keeping your pregnancy from me? This is our pregnancy, not just yours._ But he didn't, couldn't. That would be petulant and cruel, a childish and unloving act.

He wanted to say: _It hurts me that you don't trust me to tell me about your pregnancy._ But that would be selfish.

He wanted to say: _I miss you so much it hurts, and by the way, are you pregnant?_ But he didn't.

He wanted to say: _Please come home. I need you now, I want you in my house, in my bed._ But that felt too needy.

He wanted to say: _Is there anything you need to tell me?_ But he didn't, recognising how manipulative that sounded.

What he needed to say was the truth. Ruth would recognise were he to say anything that was not totally truthful.

_My Dear Adele,_ he began,

_It has been two weeks since I have heard from you, and my concern for your wellbeing is something which I need to share._

_It has been brought to my attention that you may be carrying a burden on your own. I would like to think that, given we are such close friends, you would have felt free to share with me any burdens you may have recently acquired. I wait for such confidences, and yet we seem to have missed talking about something quite important. I too am responsible for whatever extra is on your plate, and had hoped we were close enough for you to have unburdened yourself._

_Please tell me what it is you wish me to do._

_I have not been prying into your life, dear Adele; our mutual friend, Michael, had been using his special gifts, and had come across your situation. He thought to share this with me, and so I am passing on his good wishes along with my own._

_Please contact me soon._

_Your friend,_

_James_

Harry pressed the Send button before he'd re-read what he'd written. He was very tired. It would have to be enough. He fell into bed, thinking of he and Ruth and the child they had created together.

* * *

**Ruth:**

Ruth read Harry's email on her own laptop before she left for work on the 8 am bus into Zurich. So he knew. It appeared that Malcolm had done some kind of digital jiggery-pokery and discovered that she was visibly pregnant. Ruth suspected a satellite scan, or else a CCTV hack. Either were something Malcolm could easily do one-handed while he drank his morning coffee. She then supposed that Malcolm had taken it upon himself to inform Harry of her pregnancy. She tried to be annoyed with both Malcolm and Harry, but she couldn't. Malcolm hadn't a nasty bone in his body, and she knew how much Harry loved her and wanted to take care of her. It was she who had held back information, and this information affected Harry as much as it affected her.

What to tell Harry? How could she tell him – in a carefully worded email – that due to her menstrual cycle being irregular, she had not thought until several weeks after Harry had flown back to London that perhaps she may have been pregnant. By the time she took a pregnancy test, she was already around 6 weeks pregnant, and beginning to experience some symptoms, such as tender breasts, and occasional morning sickness. She was one of the lucky ones. She felt healthy, and was looking forward to the birth of her and Harry's baby. To abort was out of the question. The growing mass of cells within her uterus was the product of an act of love between she and Harry, no doubt their first time, during which neither had considered practicalities such as contraception. It had been a spontaneous act of passion, and an appropriate one from which conception of their child had resulted. Ruth knew that this new life growing within her was about to change both their lives in the best possible way.

So, why hadn't she told Harry? If she was being completely honest, time had slipped away from her, and she simply hadn't got around to telling Harry. The pregnancy hormones had made her a little lazy, and time frequently ran away from her. How could she say: _By the way, Harry, I'm around 5 months pregnant_, in an email of the kind she had to send to him? She wouldn't even want to tell him on the phone. The only way information such as this could be shared with a lover was face to face, and until he could get away again, face to face simply wouldn't happen for them.

By the time Ruth stepped into her third floor flat after work, she had formulated a reply to Harry. He deserved that. He was probably checking his email account every hour on the hour, and so to keep him waiting even another day was unfair.

_My Dearest James,_

_Your communication left me feeling bad about how remiss I have been. I only knew about my added responsibilities (certainly not a burden to me) some weeks after I last saw you, due to the unreliability of my own cyclical nature. Time got away from me as I tried to think of how best to inform you. I had even considered sending another postcard, but thought that inappropriate for imparting news of this nature._

_Please forgive me, dear James. Know that I am well and happy, and longing to see you again. My working life is enjoyable, but we both know that it must end soon. I am hoping we can be reunited in your native land. I will not rest until that is achieved, hopefully before the fruit of our actions ripens._

_Yours, _

_Adele._

Ruth left the email unsent until she'd eaten a light meal of French bread, cheese, and local sausage. She read it through for around the tenth time, and then sent it, hoping Harry would read it before he retired for the night.


	4. Chapter 4

**Harry:**

Harry was sitting at his desk, laptop open in front of him, when he received a message alert from his safe email account. He quickly opened the email and read it. His first reaction was relief, quickly followed by the intense love he felt for this woman. He could still remember Jane being a little fuzzy-headed when she'd been pregnant with both their children. He'd once had to stop her from putting a pile of folded underwear in the (fortunately cold) oven, and another time she'd run the dishwasher through a full cycle, while all the dishes still sat, unwashed, on the kitchen counter. He'd not noticed until he'd arrived home - very late, as usual - finding the dishwasher had finished its cycle, while the dirty dishes from the past day stood on the bench. She'd stand in one spot, staring at nothing, almost as though her motor had been turned off. A few minutes later, she'd shake her head, and continue what she'd been doing.

Harry wanted to write straight back to Ruth, but he was too tired to formulate a lengthy answer. He wrote:

_Dearest Adele,_

_My heart and all my very best regard goes out to you._

_I will do everything in my power to ensure we meet again soon._

_I am presently very, very weary, so will write no more tonight._

_My very best wishes to you,_

_James_

Only then did Harry feel relaxed enough to close his laptop and go to bed.

**Malcolm:**

It took another two days for Malcolm to gather all the information Harry had required. To speak to Harry freely really required they be somewhere off the Grid. He now had proof that the Grid was compromised. He knocked on Harry's office door at a little after 11 o'clock.

"Can we meet somewhere for lunch, Harry?" he asked, once he was sitting in the chair across from Harry.

"Sorry, Malcolm, but my JIC meeting begins at 12. It shouldn't be a really long one, but I don't expect to be finished until 4 at the earliest. Perhaps we can meet after that."

Malcolm nodded. "We can't met here," he said quietly. "There's too much at stake. Can you perhaps come to my place, Harry?"

* * *

At 5.47 pm, Harry texted Malcolm to say he'd be at his house by 6.40. At 6.44, Malcolm opened his front door to Harry, and stood aside while his boss stepped into his house, and then he led him through to his office, just off the kitchen. He already had a tray prepared with teapot, milk, sugar, two mugs, and some biscuits, and this sat on a small coffee table with comfortable chairs either side.

"Mother is watching her TV in her bedroom. There's the news hour, and then she has her own DVD boxed sets of Corrie and Crossroads to keep her occupied until she's ready to turn in. She'll not bother us," he said as he poured the tea. "I've taken a tray of food to her, and she'll probably go straight to sleep once she's watched a few episodes."

Both men sat in the comfortable chairs while they sipped their tea.

"I can give you something stronger if you like, Harry. I have rather a good Scotch whiskey on my sideboard."

"All in good time, Malcolm. What's the secret?"

Malcolm looked across at Harry and ascertained which piece of information should be delivered first. "There are two …. er …... secrets, Harry, and with them, two pieces of news. One piece of news is good, while the other is not so good …... bad, in fact."

"I think I'd like the good news first, Malcolm. I have a need to hear something which will lift my spirits."

"I'm glad you said that, because the good news pertains to Ruth. Before I tell you that, I'd like to offer my congratulations on Ruth's pregnancy. I'm ashamed to say that I totally forgot my manners when last we spoke about it."

Harry looked surprised, but pleased. He was relieved to be able to speak of it with someone. He was a man of many secrets, but secrets could also weigh heavily within him. "Thank you, Malcolm. It was a surprise to me, as you saw, but I have since had email contact with Ruth, and I now know why it is she hadn't told me. It's taking me a while to get used to the news, but I am pleased, all the same. I hadn't expected it, but I am having to acknowledge my part in it. I don't like the thought of Ruth having to be alone in this."

"Good, because I have done some digging in …... er …... places where perhaps I shouldn't, but you probably know that Ruth did similar digging while she worked for MI5."

"What I don't know can't hurt me."

Malcolm took a biscuit from the plate, and took a bite before he continued. "I have done all the electronic digging I can – chiefly into back files in possession of the JIC. It makes for interesting reading, and before you ask, I am covering my tracks. I have that software set up on my own computer, as well as my terminal on the Grid. One can never be too careful. I discovered early on that the code name they gave Ruth – after she'd …... er …. died – was Ariadne. I suppose you can imagine why."

"Ariadne," Harry mused, "put in charge of the labyrinth, where sacrifices are made. More importantly, she later helped overcome the Minotaur, so that victims of sacrifice could be saved. I suppose they see that as apt." He bent to take a sip of his tea.

"Yes. Ironically, in our situation, the Minotaur is Oliver Mace, although I imagine he never saw himself that way. I have news."

"Tell me. I trust this is your good news."

"Yes, it is. There is a memo written four months ago, which would have been around the time you came home from leave, and when this memo is decoded, it reads: _Operation_ _Ariadne is dead_."

"So, it's over. They've stopped looking for her," Harry replied, sitting up straight in his chair, a smile on his face. "Have you checked all other intel?"

"Yes. There's none of the usual checks listed. They've stopped looking. They stopped looking four months ago."

"Which means that they didn't ever believe she'd thrown herself into the Thames."

"That's right. For twelve months they expected her to turn up somewhere. You took a risk joining her, Harry, but you must have fooled them."

"I hope so. Now all we have to do is clear her name."

"I have an idea for that, but I haven't fully formulated it. In the meantime, Ruth can come home, but I suggest she doesn't come back to London quite yet. Perhaps we could find somewhere for her which is close by, but still out of the way of those who may recognise her. I'm thinking Kent, or Hampshire, maybe Berkshire. I'm sure that MI5 have a safe house in Berkshire. In fact, I think we have several of them between Oxfordshire and Hampshire. Leave it with me, Harry. It's best you don't leave your fingerprints on anything to do with Ruth. Wait until she's back in the UK, and then you can visit her again."

"Thank you, Malcolm." Harry stretched his legs in front of him, and visibly relaxed.

Suddenly they heard a voice from another room, highly pitched and excited. Harry sat up and turned towards the closed door, while Malcolm smiled and held up his hand.

"That's my mother," he explained. "She's no doubt watching an old episode of Corrie. I gave her the DVD box set of episodes from the 1960's for her birthday. She likes to get angry with Ena Sharples, telling her she's a nosy old bag who drinks too much." Malcolm smiled, his eyes glinting. "She gets quite upset sometimes, but I think the involvement is good for her."

"The bad news, Malcolm?"

"Ah yes, for that we may need something stronger than tea." He stood, and turned towards the door. "If you'll excuse me."

**Harry:**

Harry knew it was too soon for him to unwind in relation to Ruth. Only when she was safely living in the UK would he be able to relax. For now, he was relieved and even happy that she was no longer on some IA goon's hit list. He looked up as Malcolm again entered the office, this time with a bottle of Bowmore single malt Scotch whiskey, and two glasses. He placed them on the coffee table, and closed the door behind him.

"This must be serious, then," Harry said, as he took the glass Malcolm offered.

"It is." Malcolm poured himself a glass, and sat back in his own chair as he took a sip. He looked through his glass as he held it in front of him while he considered how best to continue.

"Spit it out, Malcolm."

Malcolm looked up at Harry. "We have a traitor in our midst," he said.

Harry felt his shoulders slump. _Not another one_. Between the losses and the treachery, he wondered why he still engaged in the fight. "I'm hoping this has nothing to do with Ruth."

"No, thankfully it has nothing at all to do with Ruth. It's to do with the Manchester bombings. And the London bombings. It seems I was right about Abdul Golovkin. He visited the UK using an alias – Viktor Mironov – which was easy to uncover. Viktor is his father's name, and Mironov his father's mother's maiden name. I just ran a whole combination of relevant names through the system – including his real name – until this one emerged. His visits were monthly within the six-month period prior to each of the bombings. It seems he recruited his bombers from the mosques in Leeds and Manchester. He supposed that the most disaffected young people would be found in the north. I have set up electronic surveillance on Golovkin, so I am not concerned about him at present. I then had to find the reasons why we didn't get wind of this before – in particular – the Manchester bombings. After all, they were carried out in a similar way."

"With less damage and loss of life, fortunately."

"That was down to the police, not us. I ran a trace on all emails entering the Grid in the month leading up to the Manchester bombings. You have to ask yourself, Harry, how it was your senior intelligence analyst didn't let you know that she'd received warnings as early as three weeks before the bombings."

"_Connie_?"

"I'm afraid so. She received several emails in the 4 weeks before the Manchester bombings informing her of their intentions. They were encrypted, but I was able to crack them quite easily."

"And you covered your tracks, Malcolm?"

"As always. I can show you the emails if you like, which is why I brought you here. It would be too risky to be doing this on the Grid." Malcolm stood and walked around the table to his desk, where he pressed a key to awaken his monitor.

Harry stood, and joined Malcolm in front of the monitor. He only had to read the first email to know that he was in trouble if he were to allow Connie on the Grid for even another day. If Connie were working for the Russians, he had to be careful.

He rang Adam, telling him the situation, and asked him to pick up Connie and take her into Thames House. He may have a long night ahead of him.

**Ruth:**

On arriving home from work, Ruth turned on her laptop and waited until it booted and loaded. There it was, another message from Harry, so soon after the last one. This was either very good news, or very bad. Before she opened it, she went to her kitchen and made herself a pot of tea – English Breakfast – and two slices of toast. Pregnancy combined with stimulating, but not difficult work had increased her appetite. She took the toast and tea to her dining table and sat in front of her laptop. She opened the secure email program – what she had come to call `Malcolm's email program.' There was a long and effusive email from Harry. It was barely coded at all, which worried her, should anyone be checking emails he'd sent. Phrases like: `I miss you so much,' and `how is our little one?' and `I wish I could be with you to wake up beside you,' were not part of their usual email language.

Then she came to the part which explained it all.

_My darling, you are no longer under surveillance. Our clever friend has checked, and to them, you are indeed dead. The hunt for you has been called off. This means that you can come home, not to London, but to somewhere not so far away. We can be reunited. To be on the safe side, I should not be the one to come and get you. I will send you details as soon as they are arranged. It will be wonderful for our child to be born in England._

_I miss you every day._

_Yours_

_James x_

Ruth found it strange that after his uncharacteristic effusiveness, Harry signed off as James.

**Harry:**

It was almost 10 pm by the time Harry got back to Thames House, to be met by Adam as he stepped through the pods.

"I was about to ring you," Adam said, breathing as though he'd been running. "Connie's dead."

* * *

_**A/N: To non-UK readers, `Corrie' is shorthand for `Coronation Street', a very long-running soap made in the UK, and shown in many other countries. Ena Sharples was an especially gossipy, milk-stout drinking character from the 1960's & 1970's. My mother used to watch the show just so that she could rail against Ena, whom she detested, thus, Malcolm's mother's reaction to the character of Ena.**_


	5. Chapter 5

**Harry:**

"_What_? How? No, don't tell me ….. let me guess. Cyanide capsule."

"I'm afraid so. She had it in a secret pocket in the seam of her jeans. We'd already searched her, but by the time we were ready to question her, she was already close to death. Her skin was cherry red, so that gave away the method she chose."

Harry turned to enter his office, indicating with his head that Adam should follow. He sat down wearily, and passed a hand over his eyes.

"That's not the best news I've heard all day, but nor is it the worst. The worst was when I discovered she'd betrayed us. It seems that Malcolm suspected her of something all along."

"Good for Malcolm," Adam replied. "What now, Harry?"

"There's a Russian agent by the name of Abdul Golovkin. He's holed up in a village just over the border from Chechnya. Malcolm has him under electronic surveillance, but we need to get him here, to the UK. It seems that the London bombings in July 2005 and the recent Manchester bombings were his brainchild. Can you arrange that, Adam?"

"Do you want me to go there in person?"

"Dear God, no. I don't want you putting yourself in danger like that. Not when there are MI6 operatives in the area. Perhaps you can contact Andrei Serkin. He'll know who's closest to where Golovkin is, and how best to get close to him. We want him alive, Adam. That's important. It's unlikely he'll stop at bombing London and Manchester. Not now he has our attention."

"Shouldn't we leave this to Six, Harry?"

"Six should do the extraction, I agree, but I want us to work on him back in the UK. I don't trust those interrogators at Six. They have a bad habit of killing their captives. Let me know when he's back in the country. I have a few things on at the moment."

Once Adam had left his office, Harry rang Malcolm, hoping he kept later hours than his mother.

"Malcolm …... I'm glad you're still up. I have a request, and I don't wish to put this through the Grid."

**Ruth:**

It was her Thursday off work, and she was having a lie-in, her laptop on her knees. She was randomly web-surfing, but with an eye and ear on her new mobile phone – pay as you go, no contract, unlimited access - a safe phone which Malcolm had provided for both she and Harry. Ruth knew that the likelihood of it ringing was in inverse proportion to the number of times she looked at it, willing it to ring. Were she to get up, putting her laptop and her new phone aside, perhaps to go to the bathroom and shower, this same law of inverse proportions would ensure that the phone would ring while she was naked and wet, the shower cascading over her. She was also aware that, being just after 7 am in Switzerland, it would be 6 am in London, and Harry would most likely be in the shower himself. She _could_ ring him, but their arrangement was for him to ring her, so she waited, trying to put out of her mind the thought of Harry naked in the shower.

One morning while he'd been with her in Switzerland, she'd sat on the closed seat of the toilet while he'd showered. They'd been talking about what they'd planned to do that day, and he'd slid open the shower door so that they had eye contact while they talked. Ruth had become mesmerised by Harry washing himself – the ease with which his hands moved over his body, his complete absence of self-consciousness as he spread shower gel over his chest, shoulders and arms; the way the hair on his head and on other parts of his body lay plastered against his skin, darkened by the water; his powerful legs, and the flexing of his leg muscles as he moved; the way his penis flopped cheerily from side to side, and then up and down as he washed his genitals; the way the water glistened on his skin; and the way his eyes darkened as he stared at her when he noticed how closely she'd been observing him.

"Ruth, are you alright?" he'd asked.

She'd nodded, and then risen from the toilet seat, throwing off her clothes as she approached the shower. By the time she'd joined Harry under the shower, she was naked, and ready to feel him inside her. They'd made frantic and noisy love against the tiles, her back against the wall, her legs hooked around his waist, his hands under her bum, supporting her so she didn't fall, their voices rasping as they breathed raggedly in time with their movements. They hadn't used contraception that time, either. Maybe that was the time their baby had been conceived.

The phone rang.

"Harry! I've been waiting for you to ring."

"I was in the shower," he said, his deep voice resonating through her ear, her jaw, her head, her whole body. Ruth sank back against her pillow, her laptop forgotten.

"I know," she replied, her tone giving away her thoughts. "I've been imagining it."

"Ruth, does that mean -"

"It means what you think it means, Harry. I've been imagining you in the shower, and me watching you without your being aware."

"Oh, Ruth," he said, his voice deepening in the way it did when he was aroused. "I wish I was there with you. I wish that so much."

"Harry …... I was thinking of you in the shower, and I remembered one other time we'd not used protection. Do you remember that morning we made love in the shower?"

"How could I forget? I couldn't hold you off, Ruth. You were a woman on a mission."

"I notice you didn't try very hard."

"Try very hard?"

"To hold me off."

He laughed lightly, and Ruth's body shivered in response.

"I found out last week that I'm eighteen weeks pregnant – or thereabouts. That would mean we made this baby while we were under the shower that morning."

**Harry:**

Harry was silent, breathing into the phone. _God, I love this woman,_ he thought. Mere words just didn't do justice to how he felt at that moment, listening to the voice of the woman he'd loved for years, the woman who soothed him, the woman he'd thought he'd lost, the woman who now carried their child inside her. It was so much more than love. It was rapture, it was bliss, it was Everything That Was. It was Life itself. He wanted to protect her for as long as she lived.

"Harry, are you alright?"

"More than alright, Ruth. I'm over the moon. You can begin packing."

"I'm packed already. All I'm waiting for is the go-ahead."

"I'll book and pay for your ticket from this end."

"Harry, no. That's too risky. I'll pay for it in cash, and get on the next available flight out of Zurich. After you say it's fine for me to go home. I'll use the passport I have under the name of Megan Barrett. That way, suspicion can't be raised, seeing that I left the country as Adele Grant. I've already given notice at work. I work until the end of next week, and then I'm free to leave."

"We haven't found a house yet. There are two MI5 houses currently available in Berkshire, but I'm sending Malcolm off on Saturday to look at them. He has good taste. He'll know what you like, and it's only until we can clear your name and reinstate your identity. After that, you're free to come back to London."

"So, our baby will be born in Reading?"

"Possibly. How are you, Ruth? How's our baby?"

"The baby's fine, and growing normally. Are you happy about this baby, Harry? It wasn't exactly planned. In fact, I hadn't considered the possibility at all."

"Not even after we had unprotected sex?"

"Harry, I've had unprotected sex before, and it's never yet resulted in pregnancy. You must have especially potent sperm."

"Maybe it's just that we're extremely fertile together."

"That sounds nice, but I don't wish to have a pile of children, Harry. One will be enough for me, I think."

Harry breathed into the phone, imagining them with three or four little children, all of them clones of Ruth – brown hair, blue eyes, brilliant. He smiled, wishing their lives could be more settled, less complicated ….. a family home behind a fence, four bedrooms, the kids' school at the end of the street, the neighbours they'd invite over for Christmas drinks, the children they'd invite over for play dates with their children. "One will be fine for me, too, Ruth."

"You still haven't said how you feel about having this baby. Are you happy about it?"

"I'm very happy, Ruth. It was unexpected, but a joy all the same."

"Harry, do you realise we've only spent a month together under the same roof, and yet we're now talking about a life together. Do you think we're moving too fast?"

Harry chuckled softly, and then spoke gently. "Ruth – how long have we known one another?"

"Over four years. But we've been apart for almost a year of that."

"We don't have to get to know one another like other couples do, Ruth. We already know one another so well. It's just the living together which might cause difficulties."

"We only lived together for a month."

"And how was it?"

"It was amazing, but we spent a lot of it in bed."

"True, we did."

"And when couples have been together a while, the bedroom begins to lose its shine."

"If you say so, Ruth, but I can't imagine that ever happening to us."

"You have to go, Harry. You have to go to work."

"Yes, my darling slave driver, I do. I'll talk to you again when I get home from work."

And so they talked twice a day, and on days when Ruth wasn't at work, they talked by phone up to five or six times a day. Harry would be in the back of his chauffeured car on his way to a meeting, and he'd ring Ruth just to hear her voice. It was far from ideal, but it was better than no contact at all.

* * *

"Now, now, Mr Carter. Treat the gentleman with respect. This is a man with beliefs, with conviction. Don't you respect his convictions?" Harry's voice was silky-smooth, smarmy even.

Adam again punched Abdul Golovkin in the stomach, and Golovkin sank to his knees. Adam stood over the Russian, his fists clenched, his feet digging into the man's abdomen to determine whether he was still conscious, while Harry remained on the chair across the other side of the table. Adam wasn't putting his whole body into hurting Golovkin; he was just scaring him.

"There, there, Mr Carter," Harry said gently, his voice as golden as honey. "That's enough. You've hurt Mr Golovkin." He waited for a while until Golovkin began to spit blood on to the floor. "Get him a towel moistened with a little water, there's a good man. Abdul and I need to have a talk, man to man."

Adam left the room, and Harry moved his chair closer to where the Russian lay, still writhing in pain.

"Can we talk openly, Abdul?"

The Russian didn't speak.

"You see," Harry continued, "I'm looking for intelligent men of conviction to work here in London. The living conditions are a thousand times better than Russia, and the houses have central heating. Three square meals a days, a warm bed, perhaps a woman, if you play your cards right. What do you say?"

"Fuck. Off." The words were strangled, but they were clear …... and in English, too.

"Okay, Mr Golovkin, this is how it works. You still represent your cause. I won't interfere with that, but you also provide intel for our side. I'm sure you know what being a double agent means."

"Fuck. Off."

"Mr Carter!" Harry called out. "Abdul has called for you. He needs persuading."

And so it went on. No more beatings were administered, but the good spy-bad spy continued until almost midnight. The only words spoken by Golovkin in the eight hours of interrogation were the same two he had spoken to Harry.

Golovkin was handed back to Six, and locked in the cells. Harry thought it unlikely he'd break. He would rather die. He was a fanatic, and fanatics never gave themselves away. To a fanatic, death was a badge of honour.

Harry drove himself home, and finding it was too late to ring Ruth, he stood under the shower for a long time, and washed the grime of the day from his skin. It was at times like these that he was relieved Ruth wasn't living with him. His shame of what he'd had to do that day was enough to drive a wedge between them.

It was high time he left interrogating to the younger officers. He was about to become a father again, and for that, he needed to be a different kind of man.

* * *

_**A/N: Be patient. I wouldn't leave Harry and Ruth apart, would I?**_


	6. Chapter 6

**Malcolm:**

"Harry, I've seen both cottages," he said, when Harry answered at last. Malcolm had been trying to ring Harry for over an hour, knowing he was in a meeting with the DG, and wouldn't be free to answer his phone.

"What are they like?"

"The better one of the two is also the larger one – it has three bedrooms – but it's quite a distance from Reading, and closer to Basingstoke. It's also off the beaten track, which is good for a safe house, but no so good for a pregnant woman."

"What about the other one?"

"Smaller. It's only a fifteen minute bus ride from Reading, on the edge of a village. It's walking distance to the shops in the village. It's perfect for Ruth …... except for one thing."

"And what's that?"

"It hasn't been lived in for at least two years, and it also has a hole in the roof."

"So, get the roof fixed, and then get cleaners and decorators in. I'm paying for it, so I expect it to be clean enough to eat food off all surfaces."

"I'll get on to it, Harry."

"Oh, and Malcolm -"

"Yes?"

"Thank you so much for doing this."

"I'm doing it for Ruth. She deserves the best."

"Yes, Malcolm, she does."

* * *

**Ruth. Three weeks later …...**

As she walked through to pick up her luggage, Ruth looked around the international terminal at Heathrow for Harry. He was nowhere to be seen, and disappointment weighed heavily in her heart.

"Megan?" a familiar voice called through the crowd of people waiting for their loved ones to disembark.

"Malcolm!" Ruth replied. "It is so good to see you. I've missed you."

"And I've missed you, too, Ruth. Not as much as Harry has missed you, of course, but that's to be expected."

Malcolm waited until Ruth took her case from the carousel, and then took it out of her hand. "I'll take that," he said, grabbing it in one hand, and taking her carry-on luggage with his other hand.

They were seated in Malcolm's car, and he was about to start the car, before he looked across at Ruth. "You haven't asked why Harry isn't here to meet you," he said quietly.

Ruth leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes. "I half-expected him to not be able to meet me," she said. "I know how caught up he can get."

Ruth felt Malcolm's eyes on her. "Pregnancy suits you, Ruth. You look wonderful. Wonderful and healthy."

"Thank you, Malcolm. Now, let's get home."

The drive to Ruth's cottage took a little under an hour, and she watched London pass by her window. It had been almost seventeen months since she'd had to leave, and she'd missed London every day. Now she was home, it looked familiar, just as if she'd seen it every day for the past seventeen months. She was home, and she was safe again. All she needed was Harry, and life would be wonderful.

She must have nodded off, because next thing she knew, the car engine was off, and Malcolm was calling her name, his hand on her shoulder, gently shaking her awake.

"Ruth, you're home," he said, "and it looks like Harry's here."

Malcolm had pulled up in the driveway, behind a black Lexus.

"Harry's here?"

"Yes. And as soon as I get you and your bags inside, I'm making myself scarce."

Malcolm was true to his word. He opened the front door and placed Ruth's bags in the hallway. Upstairs they could hear water running.

"He's in the shower," Ruth said, trying to hold back her smile, and failing. Harry in the shower had become her favourite fantasy.

She turned to Malcolm and hugged him. Surprise showed in his face, and he allowed her to hug him, but his hug in return was awkward and self-conscious. Malcolm wasn't used to hugging people. Shaking hands was more his thing.

"I'm not about to play gooseberry," he said, turning to leave.

"Malcolm," she said, holding his arm, so that he turned back to face her. "Malcolm, you're the best friend Harry and I have. Thank you for everything you've done. I know you've spent a lot of time on …..."

"I did it because I wanted to, Ruth. You and Harry have needed a little push occasionally, but I think you'll be alright now. You have my number. Ring me any time."

And then he was gone, and Ruth was alone in the cottage. Not quite alone.

**Harry:**

Harry had been under the shower for over fifteen minutes. To be in the shower when Ruth arrived home had not been part of his plan. Originally he'd wanted to meet her at the airport, but when Malcolm had offered to meet Ruth at the airport so that he could surprise her at the cottage, he thought that a much better idea. He'd grown nervous waiting, and had thought that a hot shower might calm him.

He'd not heard the car, nor had he noticed Ruth in the doorway to the bedroom, admiring the bed and the other furniture, all of which Harry had bought one day in a hurry, but with the assistance of a very patient and well-informed sales assistant. It was only when he noticed a shadow loom eerily the other side of the glass door to the shower that he realised Ruth was home. He saw her arm reach out, and she slid the door across. He stood naked under the running water, while the woman he loved stood just outside, her eyes devouring his body. "Well, well, well," she said. "What have we here?"

"How about you join me in here," he suggested, stepping back to show her that there was ample room for two.

He watched as she took off her boots, her skirt, her jacket, shirt, and stood in front of him in just a bra and knickers. His eyes were drawn to her belly, stretched, rounded and smooth.

"You'd better take those off, too," he said, looking at her underwear.

Ruth reached behind her to unclip her bra, and then pushed her knickers down and over her knees, and then kicked them on top of the pile of her other clothes. She stepped under the water, and stood in front of him, so that he was close enough to touch her. He reached out and scooped her into his arms, holding her close to his chest while she tucked her arms around his waist. They stood in one another's arms under the shower, swaying a little, as though there were music playing.

Harry then pushed her away from him so that he could look at her, his hands holding hers. He couldn't help himself. He knelt down in front of her and glided his hands across the gentle swelling of her belly, savouring the softness of her skin beneath his fingers, He then placed his lips gently against her stomach, right over where their child was growing. "Hello, little one," he said, before he stood up, and slid both his arms around Ruth, and kissed her deeply.

Ruth pushed her body close to Harry's and slid her arms around his neck, her fingers playing with the ends of his hair. He loved the feel of her against him. Everything fitted together perfectly. It was when she began to rub her belly across his groin area that he felt things change quickly for him. It had been over five months since they had last made love, and he suddenly had a powerful urge to be inside her.

"Ruth ….. darling," he said, his voice deep and strangled with rising passion, "if you keep that up, we'll be having sex in the shower, and you know what happened last time we did that?"

"Mmm," was all she said, as she again caught his lips with hers. He responded hungrily to her kisses, grinding his now healthy erection against her stomach. "I can't get any more pregnant than I am now," she added.

He laughed against her mouth, and then pulled away slightly. "Perhaps not, but if we again have shower sex, I'll need a back brace and traction, and possibly a knee brace as well. I may even require hospitalisation."

"O-_kay_," she said, pulling her hands away from his body. Ruth stepped out of the shower cubicle and took a towel and wrapped it around herself. Harry turned off the shower, and followed her, grabbing another towel from the towel rail in the bathroom.

They both dried themselves as they walked slowly towards the bed …... _their_ bed, the bed they will share when he stays over.

"Can you stay tonight, Harry?" she asked, as she dropped her towel on the carpet, and slid under the duvet.

He nodded his reply, his eyes drawn to the sight of her bare buttocks as she walked to the side of the bed, and then bent over as she pulled back the duvet. He'd had a flash of desire at that moment, wanting to enter her from behind.

"Are you going to join me in here, or just stare at me from the sidelines?"

Harry dropped his towel on the floor, and crawled over Ruth to the other side of the bed. As he slid under the duvet to nestle close to her, he felt her fingers glance over his stomach, sending shivers of pleasure through his whole body. He reached across to Ruth and kissed her deeply, his hands finding her breasts, and his fingers teasing her nipples. It was when he heard her moan beneath his mouth that he took one hand from her breasts, ran it down her body and over her rounded stomach, until he reached her warm and wet centre. He plunged two fingers inside her, sliding them in and out of her deeply and rhythmically.

Ruth's response was immediate. She arched her back away from him, and closed her eyes. He sensed that her orgasm was close. He slid his body down the bed, and replaced his fingers with his tongue. While he slid his tongue in and out of her, and then licking across her clitoris, with one hand he gently rubbed her pregnancy belly, his palm circling her skin in wide arcs. She was beautiful, and she was home with him.

She came quickly and loudly – twice – by which time he was hard, and straining against the mattress beneath him. He felt Ruth's hands on his cheeks, pulling him up to lie beside her. "I need you now, Harry. It's not the same unless you're inside me." Her voice was hoarse with desire, and feeling himself harden even more, he moved across her and above her, his hands either side of her on the mattress.

He watched her face to determine the moment when he could best push himself inside her. He dearly wanted to push hard and deeply, but that was what _he_ wanted, and not what she needed. He allowed her to take charge, something which Ruth needed, and he was happy to oblige. He waited until she lifted her pelvis up and towards his erection before he slid into her slowly and gently. When he was all the way in, he began moving slowly.

Harry liked to make love slowly and with subtlety. It wasn't all about reaching a destination. The journey there was worth taking time over, and Ruth had expressed many times how she enjoyed how he didn't rush to reach orgasm. They took a few slow thrusts to get back into a rhythm, having been apart for over five months. Eventually they slipped into their natural rhythm, he pushing deeper inside her, while she opened herself to him. Her tummy wasn't so big that it got in their way, but in a month or so things may be different, and then they'd have to become more creative. Eyes each on the other, he thrust deeper, and she began to moan, her next orgasm only moments away.

He heard her saying his name over and over. "Oh, Harry. Oh, Harry," and it was then he knew she was close, and he could begin to let go of his self control. He thrust deeper, and more quickly, because he knew she liked it that way, and before long he felt her muscles in spasm around him, and her neck arching as she said his name over and over. He pushed into her one last time as he lost himself inside her, calling her name, just as she had called his. He was nothing, they were everything, they were immortal, and _nothing_ in this world could pull them apart. They had just made love with their growing child between them, safe inside the amniotic sac in Ruth's uterus. Harry smiled as he collapsed beside her, pulling her into his arms.

After whispering the words, "That was lovely, Harry," Ruth fell asleep almost immediately, while he lay next to her, his arms around her, his body spent and content, but his mind in overdrive. He wanted to drift into sleep as easily as Ruth, to join her in her dreams, and maybe to love her there as well, but something at the back of his mind was beginning to surface, and try as he would, it wouldn't go away.

Only weeks earlier, he had watched as Adam Carter had kicked and punched a man detained for questioning over the London and Manchester bombings. Harry had not done any punching and kicking himself, but he must still hold himself responsible for any bruises left on the man's body. This was part and parcel of his job, his role as section head of Section D. It was part of what he was paid to do. Had he been a decade younger, he would have been punching and kicking along with his younger officer. What he was finding difficult on this night, as he lay next to the woman he loved after having made love to her, was how he would feel had she known what he had done when Abdul Gorovkin had been interrogated in the basement of Thames House.

Would Ruth still love him were she to have witnessed that interrogation? Was what he and Adam had done with Gorovkin justified in the grand scheme of things? But more importantly, once their child was born, would he still be able to look himself in the mirror each morning, knowing what he was capable of? It was a question he'd not asked himself while he'd held his first two children as babies, but he was asking himself now. Harry could feel himself already being changed by this child growing inside Ruth. With this child he wanted to be a better father, and to keep Ruth's love and respect, he needed to be a better man.

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**_A/N: Next chapter is the final one of this fic._**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:**_** Thanks you to all who have read and reviewed.**_

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**Malcolm:**

It only took him a few hours to identify, and then get in touch with the woman who had testified against Ruth, giving a statement that she had witnessed Ruth pushing Maudsley from the railway platform and under a train. She had twice moved flats, which made it difficult to find her. He knew that she hadn't wanted to be found, and so it had taken all his very limited charm, as well as his abundant best manners for her to agree to see him.

"I've been feeling bad about that since it happened," Patsy said. "He was a right nasty one, the one that interviewed me."

"Is this he?" Malcolm asked, putting in front of her on the table in the café a photograph of Oliver Mace.

Patsy looked at it, and then averted her eyes. "That's him, slimy git. Pushy, too."

Malcolm called over the waitress, and asked that their empty cups be removed, and fresh coffees poured. "Would you like something to eat?" he asked.

Patsy shook her head. "All I want is to clear my conscience."

"That's good. I wasn't going to tell you this," said Malcolm, not sure that he should continue with this revelation, "but the woman who was framed for Maudsley's murder went into hiding to protect the man she loved. It was almost a year before they saw one another again."

Patsy put a hand over her mouth, regret visible in her eyes. "Oh, that's awful. I hadn't known that. That slimy one told me she was a murderer, and they just wanted to get something on her, and that when they had my statement, they'd be able to put her behind bars. I feel terrible now."

"It might help you to know that this same woman is now living back in England, and she and the man she left the country to protect are back together, and expecting a child in a few months. I am glad to report that they are very happy."

"Oh, that is good news." Patsy put her hand over her heart. "That makes me feel so much better."

"So, there's no need for you to feel bad, Patsy. Things have turned out well for them. But in order for her to regain her identity, she has to have her name cleared, and that's where you come in."

"Just tell me. I'll do anything."

"I need a signed statement from you. In preparation, I've already put together a statement, but I need you to read it, and to confirm that it's correct."

**Ruth:**

It took another ten weeks for Ruth to be pardoned of the murder of Mik Maudsley. The reinstatement of her identity was to take longer, but she was not concerned. She didn't wish to be bringing their child into the world as a convicted murderer.

Unless he was tied up at work, Harry drove to her house each night, and spent the evening and the night with her. It was like being married. Before she had had to go into exile, she had often thought that she and Harry were like a married couple. In hindsight, she could see that people had treated them as though they were. The only thing missing at that time had been that they hadn't shared a house or a bed.

As her confinement neared, Ruth became more and more indolent. She had experienced two months of turbo-nesting, in which she'd travelled into Reading to buy clothes and supplies for her baby. On his days off, Harry had driven her to choose all the necessary furniture their baby would need. He had also joined her when she had had her last scan before the baby's birth. Neither had wanted to know in advance the sex of their child.

It was on the evening of the day that Ruth had received notification of her pardon that she went into labour – twelve days before the due date. Harry was due to spend the evening with her, but by the time her water broke, he had not arrived. _I must not panic,_ she told herself. _I must be brave. I need __Harry to be proud of me._

When 9 pm arrived and Harry hadn't, she rang him, feeling afraid and a little desperate.

"Ruth, what's wrong? Is it the baby?"

"It's coming, Harry. I'm in labour."

"Don't go anywhere," he said unnecessarily, as he put his foot on the accelerator and passed the line of cars which had slowed down his progress to Berkshire.

_As if I'm in a fit state to go anywhere_, she thought. _Bloody Harry. You'd better get here soon. After all, you were the one who opened the shower door so that I could see you. You were the one who looked so damned sexy that I just had to join you._

**Harry:**

Unwisely, he'd decided on the A4, and had been held up by two separate traffic accidents. As he turned off his car's engine while he waited to be cleared to drive past the second accident, he rang Liz Curnow, Ruth's neighbour, and a midwife.

_Please be home, Liz, please be home._ Liz picked up on the sixth ring.

"Liz, it's Harry. I need you to do a favour for me. For Ruth and me. She's gone into labour, and I'm held up on the A4."

"Don't say another thing. I'll get in through the laundry door. I know Ruth leaves it unlocked." Then she hung up.

_Ruth leaves the laundry door unlocked? I'll have to have a word with her about that._ Minutes after Liz had assured him all was being taken care of, the line of traffic once again moved slowly. _Bloody Friday nights_, Harry thought, as he eased his car past the rollover. _It's probably a full moon to boot._

By the time he pulled his car into the driveway, and tore inside the house, another forty minutes had passed. He hadn't heard from either Ruth or Liz. He dropped his coat and his suit jacket over the balustrade, and took the stairs two at a time. When he was almost to the top, he heard a sound which could only be described as somewhere between a scream, a groan, and an animal's cry. It was similar to the sound he'd heard Ruth utter during orgasm, only much, much louder. The sound went on and on and on, for so long he was afraid Ruth was coming apart. Quietly, he stepped into their bedroom to see Ruth, naked on their bed on all fours, her neck arched, and Liz behind her, her full attention on what was emerging from between Ruth's legs. He stood silently just inside the doorway, spellbound by the powerful image in the bedroom – his lover about to push their child out of her body into the world, being tended to by henna-haired, caring, calm Liz, an image so primal that he hesitated, not sure if he should even be there.

"Only one more push, honey," Liz said, her voice crooning and encouraging. "Just one more, and baby will be here."

"Where's bloody Harry?" Ruth said, panting, her voice angry.

"I'm here," he said from the doorway, removing his tie and his cufflinks, then rolling up his sleeves. He pulled off his shoes before he joined Ruth, kneeling beside the bed, and taking her face in his hands.

"You're wonderful, do you know that?" he said, kissing her briefly.

"You know that it's you kissing me that got me into this situation, don't you?"

"It wasn't the kissing, Ruth, it was the -" and his voice was drowned out by Ruth's next groan as she pushed their child into the world.

"Good girl!" Liz and Harry said in unison, as Liz delivered the baby. As much as Harry wanted to check the baby himself, he left that to Liz, while he stroked Ruth's brow, and brushed her hair out of her eyes. "I love you so much," he said to Ruth. "We have a baby, a healthy little …..."

"And it's a boy," Liz added, massaging the baby's chest until he let out his first howl, loudly and lustily. "I'll call Dr Lintern, and he'll drop around and do all the checks, but so far he looks perfect."

By the time Dr Lintern arrived to check the baby and Ruth, Liz had cleaned up, and Ruth was dressed in a nightgown, tucked up in bed, the baby suckling at her breast. Harry lay on the bed next to Ruth, gazing in awe at his new family, while Liz went downstairs to let him in.

The doctor's attention was mainly on the baby, but he also checked Ruth to ensure her uterus was clear, and that her bleeding was normal. "Everything looks pretty good," he said, and to Harry, "Can you take a few days off work until she's ready to go it alone? Otherwise I'll need to put her in hospital for a few days. Ruth is not in the first flush of youth. We like to keep an eye on the older mothers."

_Since when was 37 considered `old'?_ Harry thought about punching him, but then decided he was probably over-reacting. It was probably the adrenalin in the aftermath of the birth. "I'll arrange to have the next week off," he said. _Bugger the terrorists,_ he thought. _My family are more important to me._ He stopped and considered where his thoughts were taking him, realising that he'd never ever made that decision with his first family, and look how that had ended. His priorities had certainly changed. He was aware of where his thoughts were headed. The service, with its very long hours, its unpredictability and its dangers, was no longer attractive to him, and hadn't been since Ruth had had to go into exile. He was on the cusp of resigning, but this was something he would need to first discuss with Ruth, and right now, they were somewhat preoccupied. He could bring it up with her in the next few days, once things had settled down with the baby.

Once Liz and the doctor had left, Harry made a pot of tea and carried a tray with tea, tea cups and sandwiches upstairs to their bedroom, where Ruth was propped against two pillows, gazing at the tiny life in her arms.

"You haven't held him yet, Harry." She looked across the room at him with love and wonder in her eyes. "He's ….. he's amazing. I'd been worried that I loved you so much that I'll not have enough love left over for him, but …..."

"We all have unending reserves of love, Ruth. I love you more each day, and I love you now more than I did an hour ago, and now I love our baby as well. Love is never-ending. We could have four more children, and we'd love them all equally."

"In your dreams, Harry," Ruth replied. "The baby shop is now closed." Seeing the hurt look on Harry's face, she added, "But it will be re-opening in a few weeks for recreational purposes only."

"That's good," Harry said as he put the tray on the bedside table, and sat down on the bed beside Ruth before he reached out to take his son from her arms. He held the small bundle close to his chest, and reached down to kiss him on the forehead. "Hello son," he said. "I read about this somewhere while I was researching the father's role," he added, as with one hand he opened the buttons of his shirt to expose his bare chest. He then pulled back the blanket to expose the baby's skin, so that he held him skin to skin. "I read that it helps him know my smell, so he'll be able to recognise me. After all, we are animals."

**Ruth:**

She watched him, this man she had loved for years, and thanked the angels that she had been sent to work in Section D, and that she had chosen to go into exile, and that on an off-chance, she had sent him a postcard from Zurich. Her life had taken a dramatic turn once Harry had spent that month with her, but now she wouldn't have it any other way. She watched Harry holding their son to his bare chest, and could see that his birth may just be the missing piece in their lives.

"If you want to check out the rest of him, you can," she said.

"You mean …... take off his nappy and look at him naked?"

She nodded.

"Somehow that seems wrong," Harry said, "like an invasion of his privacy. I'll check him out when you bath him."

"I thought you might like to bath him."

Harry's look across their son to her with a look that could only be described as one of terror. "I won't be able to do that alone, Ruth. I'll need your help."

"Liz is dropping in tomorrow to show me what to do. You can learn along with me."

"I'm afraid I might drown him."

"He's been swimming in fluid for eight and a half months. I'm sure he'll survive the occasional dunking." Ruth looked across at her life partner. "You are capable of saving the nation from acts of terror and horror, you interrogate the worst people imaginable, and yet bathing this tiny life we've created has you terrified."

"That's because I feel responsible for him, Ruth. If anything ever happens to him, I'll have to account for that."

"_We_ will, Harry. The two of us, _together_. He's _our_ child, and you don't have to face this next step alone. I'm here beside you …... all the way." Ruth watched Harry holding their son, and she knew that they would be fine. They will learn as they go.

**Malcolm:**

Regardless of the day's activities, Malcolm rarely retired for the night until midnight at the earliest. As he'd aged, he found he needed less sleep, despite the inevitable stresses and rigours of the day …... but he was still surprised, when at ten minutes to midnight, he received a multimedia message from Harry. He opened the message, and as he read it, his face widened in a smile. Under a photograph of Ruth holding a very small bundle in a blanket, the baby's sleeping face topped with a shock of dark hair, was written: _"Oliver James Pearce born at 10.17 this evening. Everyone ecstatic."_

Malcolm's smile widened. That was the best news he'd heard in a long time. He texted back immediately: _"That's wonderful news. Congratulations and my love to the three of you." _ He had considered simply writing _"my love to Ruth and the baby"_, but he had decided that since friends like Harry and Ruth were rare, he was prepared to declare that he _did_ love Harry …... just not in a weird way.

_Fin_

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_**A/N: Harry's holding the baby against his bare skin soon after birth is a father-child bonding technique recommended by parenting psychologist, author and educator, Steve Biddulph (English born, but raised in Australia). My son did this after the birth of his own son, and now, 7 years later, the two are very close. I thought it might be something which would appeal to Harry, given his fractured relationship with Graham.**_


End file.
